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I heard your voice in my head as I read your words, and without seeing your face, I knew that your heart had been broken. Over these past months, you’ve been there for me through moments of frustration, discouragement, anger, and sadness. As I thought of your words of encouragement, love and support, this song came to mind… Thank you for reminding me that it’s all about “The Climb”. So when you need to be lifted up I’ll be waiting, and when you’re ready, I’ll hold your hand and we’ll make the climb together.

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As this day comes to a close, for me it was an anniversary of sorts….it was on this date two years ago, that I was spending what would come to be my first of many nights in the hospital and the beginning of a long journey toward healing and recovery. Thank you all for your prayers, your love, and encouraging messages along the way. I woudn’t have gotten to this day without you. 😀 Now, it’s time to close this chapter and move on to bigger, greater, and more challenging things. And speaking of bigger, greater, and more challenging things ahead…. Since last we met, I’ve been working on my novel, The Hensel House, found an unpublished novel (youg adult) that I wrote over 30 years ago, which I’m working on rewriting/revising, and joined a new writing group three weeks ago taught by Christian author/novelist Jerry Jenkins. And yes, I’m reading a lot too. Stacks of books on the nightstand and bookshelves calling my name. God bless you all!

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For the last 22 months, try as I might, I have been stuck on the same page of my life, and for the last two months since we met, I had fallen into a depression especially with the holidays at hand, and not one gift thought of or purchased. Plus a monster of a cold, that lasted three weeks. Call it a continuous loop, a hamster’s wheel, a labyrinth with no escape route. But that all changed on December 21st, 2015. It was a Monday morning like any other Monday morning I’ve been subjected to for the last 17 of those 22 months. You see, Monday mornings were Wound Care Clinic mornings. Each Monday morning, the wound was photographed, examined by the doctor, bandaged, and another appointment made because “the wound wasn’t healed quite yet” ( a quote from the doctor I grew to hate, but sadly resigned myself to the fact that the wound would never heal). But on the 21st, I got the good news that I had longed to hear since my health crisis began in February 2014. The doctor declared my wound healed and I was officially discharged from the clinic’s care.

I began my holiday shopping that evening (I do all my shopping online), and all purchases were delivered and wrapped by Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day was a beautiful day filled with joy, love, and laughter. Something I’ve missed since Christmas 2013.

New Year’s Eve and Day have come and gone, and it’s time to turn the page with a positive attitude. I look forward to renewing friendships with my blog followers and meeting new blog followers, writing uplifting words that will inspire and give you hope, and sharing my progress as my book, The Hensel House, moves along.

Wishing you all a blessed Happy New Year, filled with love, laughter, and hope for a brighter tomorrow.

“Bethie”

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Standing in front of Grandma’s pride and joy, it was the spring of 1875, six months after receiving the letter from Mr. Martinez, and what he had described in his letter was true. The life blood that once traveled through The Hensel House had drained out onto the dusty road beneath my feet. Nothing resembled the tintypes Grandma had sent when she first arrived in California a decade earlier. Now it was up to me to restore and run the once treasured landmark. I silently vowed, as I stood outside the door, to do whatever I had to do to make her proud. Exhausted and overwhelmed from my journey, I felt my knees begin to buckle. As I reached out for the door to steady me, I was surprised when the door easily pushed open. When my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness inside, the shadows of what I saw made me shiver. I reached out in front of me, searching for something to grab onto.

“Mrs. Hensel?”

To be continued….Stay tuned!

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When I finished reading the letter I swallowed hard, and wiped the tears from my eyes with a lace handkerchief. I laid the letter on the table in front of me. My daughter looked at me with tears in her eyes, too, taking my hand in hers.

“Etta, do you remember Grandma?”

She nodded, squeezing my hand to comfort me. “Yes. I remember her. You tried unsuccessfully to convince her not go to California. You attempted to impress upon her how dangerous it would be to not only travel across country alone, and especially with the Civil War still going on, but she refused to listen.”

“Yes, she had a stubborn streak,” I said, with a slight smile.

I looked down at the letter again rereading it to myself trying to make sense of what I’ve learned since I walked home. In three weeks’ time both my beloved husband and grandmother were gone.

My son seemed unconcerned by the things he’d heard, which is understandable considering he was only 4 years old when Grandma moved to California and more than likely had very few, if any, memories of her.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do, Mom?” he asked.

I didn’t answer right away, but I’m sure the look on my face told Etta that I’d already given some thought to what my decision would be as a result of my long walk home from the cemetery.

Harry Jr. quickly noticed the intense glances between Etta and I. “You can’t leave us here by ourselves! I’ve got school and my friends, and Etta can’t take care of us because she’s too busy taking care of the baby!”

“Harry, calm down. First things first. I need to reply to Mr. Martinez’s letter. Then I’ll make some phone calls to your great-aunts and uncles. I’ll tell them about Grandma, and see which one of them would be willing and able to take care of you, and help Etta with the baby while I’m away.”

My words now had my son’s undivided attention.

“You’re not taking us with you? If you leave now, you’ll miss Thanksgiving and Christmas!”

“Harry, I wouldn’t think of leaving with the holidays so close. The boardinghouse will still be standing when I get there, and I have many things to do before I can even think about leaving. Rest assured, it will be a long while before that day comes. However when that day comes, I still won’t be able to take you with me. Mr. Martinez made it very clear about the current condition of the boardinghouse, so I’m not even sure where I’ll be staying. But as soon as I’m settled, I’ll send for you.”

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Recognizing the location of the postmark as I walked outside, I had a bad feeling that this letter was not bringing happy news, so I opened and read it as I walked home. I greeted my daughter with a kiss on the cheek as I came through the front door, showing her the envelope. She looked at where the letter came from, and a concerned look crossed her face, as she studied it more closely, and then handed it back to me. I gathered my children together in the parlor and then read the letter to them:

Dear Mrs. Hensel,

My name is Mr. Guillermo Martinez, and I write to you today with the sad news that your grandmother died several days ago, peacefully in her sleep. Representing your grandmother’s estate, I don’t know if your grandmother ever discussed with you her desire for you to inherit ownership of Hensel House upon her death. Over the course of your grandmother’s declining health, the boardinghouse fell into disrepair and it became uninhabitable to its residents. The townspeople offered their help by taking in the residents who had no other family or friends to live with. Grateful I’m certain by the townspeople’s generosity and support, but not being able to run the boardinghouse she loved so much for the last decade, truly broke her heart and I would hazard a guess, hastened her death.

My law partner has informed me that you are recently widowed, with two minor children and a grandchild. So I understand fully that it will more than likely take some time for you to decide if, or when you’ll fulfill your grandmother’s wish, and, whether or not you decide to bring your family with you to California.

If I can help you in any way as you make these decisions, please don’t hesitate to contact me. Your grandmother entrusted me to first and foremost oversee that you and your family are taken care of, and her cherished boardinghouse be passed along to you now or in the future, and to future generations to come. Please accept my condolences and the condolences of the townspeople of Ciudad de Lorenzo. Mrs. Hensel, your grandmother was a pillar of and well-respected member of our community and she will be greatly missed.

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My name is Mary Frances Hensel and I was born in 1838, in the town of Meadville, Pennsylvania, located in Crawford County. I’ve lived in Meadville all my life. My beloved husband of eighteen years, Harry, died on October 14th as a result of an industrial accident while working at the railroad roundhouse in Ashtabula, Ohio, some thirty miles away. Harry and I have two children. Our daughter Etta is 18 years old with an infant daughter and our son Harry Jr. is 14 years old. If you asked my children how they would describe me, they would be quick to tell you that I’m a fearless trailblazer. And they would be exactly right. This is my story.

On the way home from visiting my husband’s grave today, I stopped at the post office to mail a stack of thank you notes for the many messages of condolence and the meals that were prepared for us since the funeral. On my way out of the post office, the clerk called out to me.

“Mrs. Hensel, I’m glad you came in today. A special delivery letter came for you.”

I returned to the counter. “Special delivery, you say? Thank you so much.”

Interested in reading more? Please leave me a comment…… Thank you! 😀

“Bethie”

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Mary Frances Hensel is the granddaughter of Mary Frances Prinkey. When Grandma Mary dies she bequeaths the rundown boardinghouse to her beloved namesake, her young widowed granddaughter. Young Mary, in order to fulfill her grandma’s last wish, must decide whether or not to leave the security of her Pennsylvania home and travel to the newly founded state of California where she knows no one.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Mary Frances Hensel was my maternal great-great grandmother. She and her husband had eight daughters. Her eldest daughter, my maternal great-grandmother, and the main character of The Hensel House, did own and run a boardinghouse in the 1940s and was the catalyst, the jumping off point if you will, for this novel. Our story begins 70 years earlier, a decade after the end of the Civil War.

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Hello friends and readers! Decided to “tease” and give you a taste of what the cover of my completed novel is about and what the potential book cover will look like. I’m partial to one, but I want to know which of these you might pick up first in a bookstore or in an online bookstore. More tomorrow night! Stay tuned! Tell your friends via Facebook, Twitter, whatever means you have to help me get more readers and fans.

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Hello friends! I’m back, well, at least for tonight anway!! Since last we met here, I’ve been busy outlining, planning, researching, and pre-writing all in anticipation of this year’s NANOWRIMO (National Novel Writing Month), which begins in 25 hours and 40 minutes! Yikes! I’m much more prepared than previous years, so I have a good chance of finishing my novel this year. The link below is to my first attempt at a book cover. Let me know what you think! Does the cover make you want to open the book? I hope so!

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About Me

My name is Beth, but my closest friends call me “Bethie”, and many of them have encouraged me to start writing a blog. So here I am! I’m sure you’ve noticed my photo and wondered why I’m sitting on my bed covered with an Indian print blanket. For the better part of 2014, I have been recovering from two surgeries and subsequent bone infections. I was born with spina bifida and live my life from a wheelchair.
I love to read and I love to write so what you’ll find here are my writings, musings, reviews of books I’ve read, and beginning sometime in early 2015, join me on my adventure into writing my first book.
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